In the Eye Wall
by Di Lusso
Summary: Based on Highlight's Children Magazine characters, "Goofus and Gallant." Goofus gets in trouble and life becomes uncomfortable for him.


**Author's Note: **This story came to mind by random inspiration. I was flipping through Highlight's, a magazine for kids, and found "Goofus and Gallant." If you know who they are, great, but if you don't—well—it's a comic that basically illustrates the dos and don'ts of life. I thought it was cute but it irked me that Goofus was a completely Goof and Gallant was always a perfect twat. Well, I wanted to know what would happen if those two ever met. And POOF! Honestly, I seriously don't know where this is going but I'm going to have fun with it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Goofus and Gallant" but Highlight's Children's Magazine does. Unfamiliar names or characters are made up by me, and owned by me. I can proudly say they are mine.

**Status:** Rough Draft.

Now shoo and go read. If you like, great. Feedback is always optional but welcome because my amateurish, writing-skills need it. :P

* * *

**"In the Eye Wall"**

Chapter One: Say Hello

By Di Lusso

* * *

If Monday had anything to do with the way his mom was treating him, by gosh, he was never going to survive. She was running the mouth again, and like a tolerant whipping boy, he grew deaf ears to her lengthy rant. Today all the yapping she had done in the car had drained him. Yet, when they arrived home, he managed to do some whining before slamming the door on her bare foot.

And all this was because he had punched some wuss in the face. Then he was sent to the principal's office for what was like the fifth trip.

Even if he had given his reasons that he hadn't _really _intended to, none of it would have matter. Principal Doyen was ready and set on giving him a referral and added a detention to boot. But the detention would have to wait. It was the last day of school and officially, the beginning of summer vacation was tomorrow, June 1st.

Principal Doyen, however, documented the referral and detention slips with a great amount of satisfaction but none of it showed on his face. The boy's mother had been there, standing tight-lipped, and clearly unhappy. It would have been inappropriate. His feelings of content would have to be expressed until later on the golf course with a nine club in his hand.

Goofus Dormer Bussey thought it was all completely unfair. The jerk did not even give him a chance to explain that the guy he had punched had threatened to b-l-a-c-k-m-a-i-l him.

But, after all, who really cares.

* * *

A few months ago in the spring, on a Saturday, Vachel Mooney had been bored out of his mind. The ice cream truck wasn't due to come for more than thirty minutes. He knew so because he had timed it the other, other day. That's how bored he got.

Now, Goofus, being ten and the only kid who did not know how to ride a two-wheeler, wanted to learn that day. His dad's bike was huge and it squeaked, so it was out of the question. However, their neighbors, the Harpers, had talked to Goofus' parents and said it would be no problem to teach him. After all, his parents were so busy solving larger problems and teaching their son how to ride a two-wheeler was a hindrance to their going-out-for-the-weekend plans.

Yet, that wasn't the worst thing. Mr. Harper regretfully told him they did not own any boy bikes. He had, instead, revealed a 1984 (horrifying) pink Barbie bicycle that had been hiding behind a blue, plastic curtain. Its last owner had been a younger ten-year-old Miss Harper who was now Mrs. Farr.

"Now she's a big girl. A_ big girl_. She has twins on the way, you know," Mr. Harper remarked, amused, but his smile seemed wistful.

Goofus wished he would hurry up already. He also wished that the baby Barbie bike would transform into a cool blue one. Goofus imagined that a Red Power Ranger sticker would be stuck between the handles; the Black and Green Rangers would be pasted on the sides. But there was no way the Pink or Yellow Ranger would be anywhere on it. They were girly. The Blue Ranger was not super cool either because he was a nerd. Goofus was _not_ a nerd. In fact, his grades on his report card proved it.

Mr. Harper, unfortunately, was still yakking about his daughter. Goofus loudly harrumphed and crossed his arms. They were wasting precious time and—Oh great globs, was Mr. Harper crying?

He wanted to ask why. _Why?_

And all the walls were crumbling down. Literally. The blue curtain was slipping from the ceiling, no longer dangling, and it dropped like a comfort blanket on Mr. Harper. However, it did nothing but muffle the low sobs.

To Goofus' relief, Mrs. Harper interrupted just the right moment with milk and the wiff of honey buns on a porcelain platter. She frowned immediately when she saw Mr. Harper's face and sighed when she noticed the pink bike. The milk and honey buns were put aside on an old, rusty coffee table nearby. Goofus did not wait for her to say, "Go ahead" and instantly grabbed a bun the moment she went to shush Mr. Harper.

He took a bite and chewed. Once.

Goofus carefully looked at the bun, swallowed, then tightly closed his eyes. Globs of paste painfully slid down his throat. Oh yuck—it tasted like a drink of sewer slime.

Quickly, he poured himself a glass of milk and forced a gulp. He cringed and placed the glass far, _far _away from him. The milk was room temperature and he really hated warm milk. Goofus concluded that today officially sucked. First, parents were away (again); two, the stupid Barbie bike; three, Mrs. Harper did not know how to cook.

He watched in unconcealed disgust as Mrs. Harper wiped Mr. Harper's face with her _pink _handkerchief. His neighbors were hopeless.

He swiped his sleeve over his mouth. With his eyes trained on the Harpers, Goofus backed away silently. The garage was still open so he had a chance of escaping without notice.

------

Just five minutes away, Vachel Mooney was chasing a tinkling ice cream truck. His face was red beaten and puffed in sweat but mostly, glorious anger. He ran in true, bulldog grace and yelled from the inside out. Unfortunately for him, the Ice Cream Truck drove on and the man behind the wheel pretended not to hear him. Mr. Willy James, the owner of said-ice-cream-truck, knew the kid well from previous encounters.

Vachel Mooney was an indecisive, third-rate thief. Everyone in small town Stonewall knew it; Willy's thirty-five stolen Fudge Popsicles were absolute proof. Always, he would stand behind the booth and wait for Mooney to make a choice, any choice, and in the end he would pick the usual Fudge Popsicle.

Yet, every time, Mooney would try the same trick. He would ask for one, then quickly add, "Oh wait—I want two"'; and he anticipated the second Willy would abandon the first Popsicle on the counter.

And the fool continually forgot to _not do that_. He reminded himself of it everyday. But the opportunity always came; Vachel Mooney would snatch the Fudge Popsicle and dash. Each time was successful and well played against the slow, sweet-tempered Mr. Willy James.

However, today was different. Willy heightened the volume to the famous Ice Cream tune, "Turkey in the Straw." Hopefully, new and _honest _customers would hear it.

"Come back here you fat, old aas—rrGGHHH!"

And at last, Mr. Willy James would not feel guilty for leaving behind one kid.

------

A part of Goofus had to feel relief. He had been chanced with a small amount of luck and slipping from the Harpers had not been simple. Because walking backwards was not easy, Goofus had almost tripped over a garden gnome, which had been sitting on the Harper's driveway. He was seriously boggled by the idea of a stray gnome. Goofus knew that Mrs. Harper personally hated gnomes—she had once referred them as "furry, ugly hobbits." Whatever that meant.

But once the fear of being caught had faded, he was left feeling grumpy and more than hungry. His tongue tested the roof of his mouth then closed it with a wet smack. Half-cooked, pastry goo clung to his taste buds and the leftover flavor was bitter.

His parents would not been home until five in the eve and only an hour had passed since they left. The whole house was locked down; and since his parents had planned for him to stay at the Harpers for sometime, they did not bother to give him the key. All he had was a dollar in his pocket, gum, and a crumpled Red Ranger sticker.

It was too late to go back to his neighbors now. They probably thought he did not want to be in their company (which he didn't). He felt the slow burn of his temper rise and reach the crinkles on his forehead. Well, the Harpers were horrible people anyway. Probably, they were bad parents too. He almost felt sorry for their daughter who had to live with them for so long.

Goofus also did not have trouble admitting that he was feeling sorry for himself too. He apologized to his growling belly but he was firm in his resolve. No way, no how was he going back to the Harpers. Something in the back of his mind, including his gut, were advising him not to. Maybe because it was Mrs. Harper's cooking or the fact that he would be reintroduced to Mr. Harper's occasional moodiness. (He still couldn't get over seeing a man cry.)

He wanted to avoid that and many other things.

At the street curve, a classic teal Ford turned and a sweet song accompanied it. Goofus greeted it with a lazy stare. It was just another something to add to his day of "Oh, look, there's something" terrible, great, ok? He did know not. But as it approached closer, a familiar image on the side of the truck gleamed bright. Then he knew; he realized it was a painted waffle cone with a scoop of...ice cream. It was an Ice Cream Truck.

He stood straighter in anticipation and began blindly searching for the dollar in his pocket. His lips pinched, and nose wiggling. Where is it? He reached into his back pockets, then his left. When he uncurled his hands, he recovered a peeling Red Ranger Sticker and twisted gum wrap.

Life was cruel. Life was dumb and cruel and monster wicked. His stomach understood that he was going to starve before his brain did. Goofus pushed his hand into his guts and heard a squishy _pop_.

He made a face. Oh, ew. Eww._ Ewww_.

A series of other little pops followed and Goofus really hoped that he did not have a stomach condition that he had to worry about.

Maybe his guts were farting.

Maybe...maybe he should just sit down.

He folded his legs beneath him, which oddly appeared as if he were ready to pray, and as if God had seen—the tinkling sound came to a halt. It stopped near the sidewalk and Goofus squinted to see a glint of the sun in the side view mirror. The wheels of the vehicle rolled back and the engine settled into a soft burring hum.

He saw a grizzly, old man crawl out of the front seat and disappear into the back; Goofus awkwardly got up, not sure, but hungry enough to try. Impatiently, he waited as the window was slowly opened. As the window was propped to stand, a gray screen followed, and slid to reveal the smile of Mr. Willy James. His bushy moustache was combed, chesire smooth; and the cool of the fridge inside did not erase the ascending curve of Willy's spirits.

"You look like a fresh picked lemon," said Willy, not in offense, but in kind understanding.

Goofus shrugged, eyes pinched. He leaned forward to peer behind Willy's shoulder and through slit eyes, browsed the open freezer. The selections looked grim—and wow—he wished he had his Dad's wallet right now. Goofus dug his hands into his pockets and bunched them into a fist.

Suddenly, his sneakers began to look very interesting. He lifted his foot and noticed he had stepped on a crack.

Gee, he rolled his eyes; he hoped his mom was ok.

The thought of her and the crack made him feel better. Huh. I should step on more cracks, he thought, and couldn't stop the grin from splitting his cheeks. Later, he promised.

"People always look best when they smile," interrupted Willy. Finally, Goofus graced him with a long, good stare; a stare that asked, you have no idea who I am, do you?

"What kind do yah have?" he asked.

"There's chocolate," he held up one, thick finger. "There's vanilla." He made a peace sign and motioned the _snip, snip_ of scissors. "Then there's always strawberry." Willy smiled when he mentioned 'strawberry.'

"You know, I couldn't help but notice that my girl customers like strawberry the best."

Goofus made the usual face. In some odd way, Mr. Willy James unfortunately resembled Mr. Harper. "Uh-huh."

"But you look like a boy who might like strawberry."

"I'm not girly!" Goofus snapped. His nose could not help but wiggle, disgusted, at such an implication. The very freckles on his nostrils tinted darker.

The chesire moustache curled up. "But you do like ice cream." Willy scrunched his shoulders and laid both arms on the counter.

"Yeah," he mumbled, irritated.

"Then what does a boy like you, like?"

Goofus gave him a tiny glare. Petey Pete! he wasn't five years old but still, what Goofus hated more than warm milk, was being teased. And Mr. Willy James looked like he was enjoying the teasing. So that meant he was doing it on purpose.

In response, his fists in his pockets balled tighter.

"I'm not girly," he repeated in a low whisper but, fortunately, Willy did not catch it. For sure, if he had, Willy James would have strongly recommended that Goofus buy a strawberry ice cream. It would be meant only in the kindest meaning but Goofus would not have understood. And vice versa. Willy would not have understood Goofus' resentment simply because he was old, and slow to understand others. Thankfully, he was as sweet as his deserts.

"Then you must like Vanilla. It's the universal, most well liked of all scoops. You can't deny you don't..." Goofus continued to scowl unpleasantly and was most irritated to find himself greeted with Willy's crouched butt. "Oh here it is!" he heard a bang and what Goofus suspected was an ill disguised 'ouch.'

Enough was enough.

Goofus stood on his tiptoes and tried to see over the counter. But clearly, that was bad timing, because his nose inhaled a bit of...ah...Willy's moustache. It looked clean but boy did it smell dusty. Both parties were startled but Goofus, stunned through and through, staggered back few feet. Seeing those one hundred year old wrinkles up close and that moustache—the _smell_ of it—

In scary movies, Goofus knew that the main character was doomed to encounter what they weren't able to predict. But he wasn't scared; he was just losing his balance. His heels were unable to hold itself to the ground and in response, his legs automatically locked.

He had not seen the garden gnome that had been wedged between the two bushes. To begin with, Goofus did not even recall seeing those bushes behind him!

"ARGH!"

It was quick, fast, but the fall was not easy. He saw black and blue dots hovering above his eyes and he swiped at them. There was a groan, he heard, from the truck and Goofus imagined that Willy suffered from a similar but different accident. An accident that involved spilled ice cream.

He moved but hissed as he put weight on his hand. Something was digging into his palm. Right away he assumed it was a splinter and he lay back down on the cushion of verdure. Do not move, he told himself. Any type of motion was not allowed because his upper body did not recommend it. Sore, sore, sore everywhere.

The sun shone down and warmed the thick shirt he wore. In the corner of his eye, Goofus saw something move but he ignored it. Then a shadow was drawn across his face, and for a moment, he was glad. Small relief.

"Hey, Bussey."

He instantly recognized the owner's voice and knew the shadow did not intend to give him an aid of shade. It was meant to be as the sign of doom. A cliché clip from a scary movie. It was the inevitable thing that the main character encountered but did not expect.

Vachel Mooney: school bully number one hundred fifty-five thousand three hundred thirty-four. Unfortunately, he lived right around the corner and behind Goofus' neighborhood. How he managed to find him, like this, was nothing short of bad coincidences.

"Mooney," he spat and barely reined in the croak that threatened to crawl up his throat. Ugh. Goofus thought he must look ridiculous. He really wanted to believe he was not here but the splinter in his palm was screaming "Uh-huh!"

The shadow shifted and the curtain of sun hit half of Goofus' face. Then he felt something clamp on his nose; they felt like pliers, clamping and tightening. He tried to snort but it came out in a hot, angry wheeze. Violently, his arms began to smack at air and swap at whatever was holding his head down. He felt little twigs snap and protested at the weight being pressed into his skull.

_Squish_.

He froze. There was soil. Wet, mushy soil in his hair. In his clean, today-washed hair.

He took a bath at his mother's demand for nothing.

_I'm going to pound him! I'm going to mash his face into the ground and smear _his_ hair with it! _

Wheeze.

Ah crap. He needed to breathe. Through his nose, please. Can I? May I?

"Would you quit it!" he shouted.

"You can breathe well through your mouth, Bussey," Vachel grinned, mean and amused. "But I guess you can't even recognize a 'thank you.'"

"For what?" he gritted. "For being a jerk? For being a** BIG**, UGLY KID? WHEN I TELL ON YOU YOU'LL BE IN—"

"Shut up or I'll dig your face into the soil."

Goofus opened one eye and peered into the face of what he thought looked like a bulldog. It was the truth. Mooney's whole body, he thought, was mismatched right down to the character.

"For _what_," he growled.

There it was again. That malicious, happy grin. He wanted so badly to slice it off.

"I saw you, Bussey. I can't believe you were_ that _desperate to get a free cone."

"What?" Goofus knew the 'confused' was stamped on his forehead.

"I saw you," he sing-songed; "I saw you k-i-i-s Mr. Willy James."

"There's only one **i** in kiss, stupid."

Vachel did not look bothered. His face did the opposite of Goofus' glare. It glowed. He appeared satisfied with what he found. Irritated, Goofus watched as Vachel stood straight and walked towards the truck. Vachel reached into the window, over the counter, and dug his hand around for something. He smirked, signaling that he got what he wanted, and Vachel left with a handful of stolen Fudge Popsicles.

The look he parted with Goofus promised that he would not forget today.

Goofus muttered complaints, silently, and thought it was about time to get up. But he froze, a little chill came over him, and he seriously began rethinking of moving. He had been so busy air-swapping for Mooney's shirt he hadn't seen _this_.

Standing between his legs was a garden gnome with an eerie smile plastered on his ceramic face. Unfortunately for Goofus, there was no sledgehammer in sight.

His fingers twitched.

What. Would. Jesus. Do.

* * *

She rubbed her right foot and winced. It was swelling nicely. She didn't know if he slammed the door on her foot on purpose but she was willing to believe he did. And there were no offered apologies, not even an 'oops.'

Her son had all but ran into his room and flopped on his bed. He didn't bother to remove his shoes and gladly hid his face in his pillow. Goofus' room was like any other boy: a mess and clothes a strewn. Mrs. Sarah Bussey would have excused his untidiness if his grades reflected the opposite of his bedroom habits. They didn't and she was justified in her disappointment as a mother. It wasn't her fault. She told herself that she could only do so much for her ten-year-old boy. Everything had been provided for him that was only meant to benefit, but the results were again, she sighed, disappointing.

Sarah drew her eyes away from Goofus, from his room, and closed the door. His father was going to have to hear that their son had purposely involved himself in another fight.

Her eyes were fixed on a small brochure and she contemplated it carefully.

In the evening, Mr. Bussey arrived from work. The front door shut with a soft click and he tucked his keys in his back pocket. He was tired, a bit hungry, and television starved but he expected his wife was ready with the dinner. Everything was going smoothly.

Yet, he saw the form of his wife, sitting in the living room with lights on but dimmed. Librarian glasses were perched on her nose, and the concentrated look on her face told no one was to disturb her.

"Sarah?"

By the way he said her name, she knew he wanted to be told that dinner was ready. No worries. "There's dinner in the fridge. It's wrapped in foil marked 'chicken and rice."

He took of his coat and sat down across from her, in the loveseat. "And?" he prompted.

"Goofus said that he was defending himself. He said that this sixth grader was threatening to blackmail him." She took off her specs and stretched her legs. "That is what happened to-day."

"Ridiculous." He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. It wouldn't look mature at his age. "Kids at his age don't have the material for any type of blackmail. Good or bad."

Sarah smiled, mouth upturned into a pre-laugh. "Although, Goofus does have a good grasp of bribery."

Oh, God. "You talk to him," he said and relaxed into the recliner. He closed his eyes and yawned. A lean hand patted his knee and his head titled slightly to see a good view of the thunder on his wife's brow. "Ryan."

His arm stretched for the remote. "Hmm?"

"We won't have to talk to him."

"You mean, you won't," he corrected.

"No," she said and picked up the brochure from the coffee table. "_We_ won't have to because I registered Goofus for this."

He took it and barely skimmed it before giving it back. Although, the small smile on his face expressed his approval.

"What do you think?" she didn't have to ask, but she wanted to, only to hear it from his own lips.

"Well," he said, "it's cheaper than therapy."

* * *

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To Be Continued

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